


to the key of E

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Gangbang, Humiliation, Infidelity, Lingerie, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, ponyplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel meets a man at a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After the disaster that was his relationship with Sir, Gabriel avoids nightclubs for six months.

He tells himself it’s not because of the guy--tells himself that Sir being such a psychotic asshole was just a fluke, tells himself he isn’t scared of a man that has been reduced to nothing but memories and scars--and to prove it, he sets aside a night to get himself dressed up and heads back out to the club scene. He calls the fluttery feeling in his gut nervousness about being out of the clubs for so long, nothing more, and orders himself a drink as soon as he can to soothe the anxiety that makes his hands shake.

The bartender is handsome enough--he looks older than Gabriel would usually find himself interested in, but something about his soulful green eyes and the wink that accompanies Gabriel’s drink has him lingering around the counter. He sips his drink--cringes at the almost tacky bitter aftertaste, decides not to order it again--and half-heartedly listens to the bartender’s rambling complaints about work, trying not to appear too desperate and cling to the only shred of kindness he’s been shown since his last calamity.

“You’re too cute for this place, though,” the bartender says suddenly, and that gets Gabriel’s attention. He looks over his shoulder at the other man and raises a brow, and before he can stop it he’s blurted out, “Oh, yeah? You got a place that fits my level of cuteness, then?”

For a minute everything seems to halt--the bartender stares at him and Gabriel thinks, fleetingly, about how _stupid_ he really must be to just _offer himself up_ like that, to this guy he doesn’t even know--

But then the bartender’s hand is on his cheek, touching over his scars so lightly that Gabriel can’t help but flinch, and the smile that he shoots Gabriel’s way is golden.

“My name is Julian. I get off at two.”

  
__  


Gabriel is on his knees by two-thirty.

He doesn't remember how, exactly, he got to this man’s house; doesn't remember how he wound up naked, on his knees, by the king-sized bed. Everything between getting his drink at the bar and the present is a blur of color and noise, and there’s an icy-hot feeling thrumming just beneath his skin that he can’t quite place; some part of him tucked down deep and muffled is raising red flags, but before he can really think about _why_ there's a cool metal bit strapped between his teeth and cuffs pinching into the skin of his wrists, words of praise are cooed softly into his ear, and he doesn't have to think anymore because he can just feel. His body slips back into submission like he was made for it--shoulders drawing back to show off his chest, thighs spreading wider--and, hell, Gabriel thinks that maybe he was.

“...perfect for this,” Julian is saying, and Gabriel forces his hazy mind back to the present, loathe to miss any of the man’s words. Warm hands skim down his sides, stop to grab sharp handfuls of his hips; Gabriel shudders under the sensation, each touch magnified and electric, like his nerves are on fire. “A perfect cockslut body…isn't that right, pet?”

Gabriel doesn't--can't--fully process the question, but he nods anyway--anything, to get those big warm hands to move again. But Julian doesn’t rise to the bait and instead continues to just lightly stroke his fingertips along defined hipbones, and Gabriel bucks his pelvis up with a soft whine, cock already hanging full and heavy between his legs. He chews restlessly at the bit when he hears Julian’s chuckle.

“Aw...poor baby. You want something?” 

Gabriel nods blearily, following Julian’s movements with cloudy eyes as he lazily circles around him, and can’t keep his hips from giving another hopeful, half-hearted buck. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside out, like the very air is too much and yet not enough sensation on his skin; yet all his thoughts are drawn toward Julian, toward Julian’s hands, toward Julian’s cock. Julian’s touch on his body. _Anything…_

Julian grins, seemingly pleased, and reaches out to grab the leather straps holding Gabriel’s bit in place. He jerks it down to Gabriel’s chin to free up his mouth, uncaring of the way the metal D-rings pinch and pull at dark, spit-slick skin, and purrs, “Beg for my cock then, whore.”

“ _Please_ ,” Gabriel gasps, voice a wrecked, hoarse thing; he shifts his weight, spreads his legs wider, licks his lips. Julian’s smirk goes wicked and Gabriel is too far gone to notice or care. “Please, s-sir-- _Master_. Please...want your cock, please, let me...”

He doesn’t even really know what he’s saying, has no filter for the babble that leaves him; but as the haze only gets thicker over his mind, makes his thoughts sluggish and cloudy, his muscles remember how to form the words that Sir had wanted to hear. 

“Good boy.” Julian grabs a fistful of Gabriel’s hair and Gabriel _moans_ at it, the simple, rough touch enough to light him up in a tingling wave from head to toe. He leans into Julian’s pull and spreads his lips eagerly for the cock that nudges at them, looking up at Julian’s face as he swallows his shaft down halfway, desperate to do well--to be good.

Julian grabs his ears and starts to drive into his mouth with slow, deep thrusts, and Gabriel moans as he takes it, delights in the knowledge that he’s the reason for the faint grin on Julian’s face, the cause behind the groan that rumbles through him. He feels so stupidly _happy_ , here on his knees in Julian’s home, with Julian’s cock raiding his throat; feels so good and peaceful, thanks whatever God is listening that he was lucky enough to go home with someone as kind and wonderful as Julian is.

Gabriel stays there, mouth open and pliant to the fucking, for what feels like mere minutes; but when Julian does pull away he’s panting softly, his pale cheeks flushed dark, hand gripping the base of his cock tightly like he might blow his load at any minute. His voice is hoarse as he snaps at Gabriel, “Head down, against the floor.”

Gabriel obeys easily, bending at the waist to nuzzle against the short carpet; the wiry texture of the fibers against his skin is oddly pleasant, only second to the feeling of cold, slick fingers nudging at his hole. The chill of the lube is enough to draw a yelp from him--and the noise draws Julian’s attention back to his mouth, as he reaches around to fumble with the bit before shoving it back between Gabriel’s lips and buckling it tighter than before.

The taste of lube over the metal is bitter and strange, but Gabriel doesn’t have long to focus on it; because then there’s a shock of chill as two of Julian’s slicked-up fingers ram and wiggle into his ass, delving deep and stretching him out too much, too fast. He squirms fitfully, hands clenching into fists behind his back--the pain of the intrusion cuts through his pleasure-haze like a hot knife, makes him whine. He earns a slap to the ass for his trouble, hard enough to make the muscle quiver.

“Shut up,” Julian growls, yanking his fingers free and grabbing for Gabriel’s hips again; his cock slides slick between the mounds of Gabriel’s cheeks, before catching at his rim and making Gabriel whimper. He closes his eyes, relaxing further against the floor, and between the cotton in his head and the blood roaring in his ears he barely hears Julian’s murmur.

“Yes, just like that. Just stay still…”

__

 

Gabriel wakes up with a headache strong enough to blind him.

When he comes to he has to take a few long, agonizing minutes to just lay still and focus on his breathing--everything below his waist throbs with the faintest twitch of his muscles, and there’s a pressure behind his eyes that feels like it’s threatening to blow out his skull at any second. His limbs feel heavy and distant, splayed as they are across the floor; the wiry carpet beneath him prickles uncomfortably at his skin, and he heaves himself up as soon as he’s able to, groaning at the way even that motion makes his head swim. 

Just what the _fuck_ did he do last night?

Gabriel looks around the room blearily, blinking to try and clear his blurry vision, eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight that spills in from the stained-glass window; he doesn’t recognize the room he’s in at all, with its wall-to-floor windows and huge bed, the framed art on the walls. He finds his clothes lying in a pile nearby--looking almost like a blemish, on the pristine room of white and gold--and grabs for them as quickly as his muscles will allow, getting dressed in urgent haste. 

He has to stand, to pull his jeans back on, and it almost makes him sick--the rush to his head as he straightens up, the shudder that races down his spine. He staggers backward and braces himself against the bed as he finally gets his pants buttoned, and pushes himself off it to head for the door, steps faltering and wobbly as a newborn colt’s.

He expects to start recognizing something-- _anything_ \--as he heads down the hall; but all that meets him is more white and gold, statues and high ceilings, and he has to stop and just stare for a minute because _holy shit_ , how did someone like him get in a house like _this_?

“Oh--you’re awake.”

Gabriel startles at the voice, whips around and winces at the pain that laces through him; he dimly recognizes the man that stands before him, with his green eyes and pale skin, looking entirely unruffled as he stands there in his polo and slacks. But he tries to think of a name and draws a complete blank.

“...hey,” he starts, cautiously; his voice is terribly hoarse, hurts leaving his dry throat. The man raises a slender brow, and Gabriel intelligently asks, “Who, uh…?”

“Julian,” the man supplies, grinning faintly at Gabriel’s sluggish nod, the shuffle of his feet as he sways. “We met at the bar last night…”

He trails off, then adds in an amused voice, “What? You don’t remember?”

“I--of course I remember,” Gabriel says sharply, hoping beyond hope that if he just keeps saying it enough, somehow the memories will return to him. “I just...forgot your name, that’s all.”

“...Of course.” Julian’s grin changes to something softer, and he holds a hand out to Gabriel before kindly suggesting, “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen...have some water, to clear your head. You look a little shaky.”

Gabriel gives the outstretched hand a dubious look--but after another wave of lightheadedness threatens to sweep him off his feet, he reaches out to take Julian’s hand, giving it a squeeze as he follows the man up the hallway. As he staggers along, he thinks that Julian seems nice enough--is definitely prettier than some of the people Gabriel’s woken up alongside--and, if his house is anything to go by, the guy has money. Gabriel dares to think that maybe he wouldn’t mind visiting again, if Julian would have him.

The kitchen is just as grandiose as the bedroom had been--all stainless steel and tile, more windows than Gabriel has in his whole apartment. Julian breaks his hold on Gabriel’s hand to go to the sink, and Gabriel takes the moment to look around the kitchen again, stunned by just how big and roomy everything is.

He looks back over as fingertips brush over his hand, and takes the glass of water Julian offers him, pausing to give the man a faint smile and a murmur of thanks before he sips.

Gabriel thinks, maybe, this could work out after all.

__

When Gabriel wakes again, it’s to darkness.

He blinks, groans at the pain in his head, and tries to raise a hand to rub at the throbbing point in his temple--but he quickly finds that his limbs are caught fast, held spread and unable to be moved. He gives a few panicked tugs, immediately thinking of Sir and being held captive by a man he didn't trust, how terrifying it had been; he finds his voice with a hoarse shout of, “Hey! _Hey!_ What the _fuck_ \--”

“Oh, Gabriel.” Julian’s voice feels right by his ear, but when the blindfold is pulled off Gabriel finds himself blinking up to the sight of a tall ceiling, the same spacious bedroom he woke up to the first time. He looks first at his wrists--breath catching at the sight of the silk cord wrapped tight around them, pinning them to the bedpost--then turns a glare on Julian, spitting, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!”

Julian raises a brow, leaning over the side of the bed and lazily twirling a small, lace-trimmed pink band between his fingers. “Gabriel...why so agitated? Where's the soft little boy who was so eager to share my bed last night?”

Gabriel stiffens, unease prickling over his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “...what?”

“Last night.” Julian grins, tossing the little band onto Gabriel’s bare chest. This close, Gabriel can see how spots of the pink fabric are stiff and stained, glazed in dried white. “You were so eager...so hungry. I couldn't keep up, by myself.”

“What...what are you talking about?” His mouth dry, Gabriel tries to remember; all he can pull into recollection is a blur of bright colors, voices slurred together, a blinking red light. He bites his lip, the sudden, cold grip of terror that knots in his stomach making him temporarily forget the binds around his limbs. “What are you _fucking_ talking about, Julian?”

Julian blinks down at him, all innocence and curiosity, his mouth pulling into the smallest of smiles. “You really don’t remember, do you?” he asks, and his voice is part amused, part wondrous, as he walks over to the large holo-screen set up in front of the bed. “I suppose I’ll just have to show you, then. Luckily for you, I don’t mind.”

Gabriel’s question of _Show me what?_ is on the tip of his tongue, but before he can voice it the holo-screen flicks on; and the knot in Gabriel’s stomach tightens before shattering, a cold flush rushing through his body.

He’s there, on the screen--dolled up in a lacy pink collar and panty set, on his hands and knees, with some guy’s cock shoved down his throat. At least a dozen bodies surround him, and when the shot zooms in he can see the drying glaze of cum over the flush on his own cheeks, the hungry, hazy look in his eyes, the streaks of waxy pink that his painted-up, swollen lips leave behind on the shaft; it’s horrifying, _humiliating_ , but what’s even worse is how he whines every time the cock leaves his lips, the hunger with which he chases it, his desperation to keep it close. 

Gabriel stares at the man on the screen and thinks that can’t be him--but then a voice off-screen coos, _“Do you like that dirty cock, Gabi?”_ and the screen-Gabriel nods, moans, buries the dick deeper until it bulges out his throat.

Amid a chorus of on-screen laughter, Gabriel looks over at Julian, eyes wide and heart pounding in his ears. Betrayal and panic burn hot in his chest, feel like a dam ready to burst. “You...you filmed…?”

“It was your idea, baby,” Julian says, looking almost hurt as he comes over to the bed, near Gabriel’s feet. He unties the ropes holding Gabriel’s legs still, then rubs over his ankles softly, soothingly, touch light enough to avoid hurting his bruises. Gabriel looks into his eyes and is unnerved by the lingering amusement he finds there, but any reply he would make is stolen by the screen-Gabriel suddenly crying out.

He looks up to see himself on his back, with the same man crouched over his face, feeding his balls between screen-Gabriel’s sucking lips and petting over his hair. Lower, a hand has pulled down the lacy waistband of the panties, and Gabriel is horrified to see how hard his own cock is, leaking pre-cum down the throbbing shaft and held that way by a small, pink band wrapped firmly around the base. 

The same band that sits on his chest now, feeling heavy as stone.

Gabriel flinches as his wrist is touched, and looks up to Julian blankly; Julian finishes untying Gabriel’s hand and gives his cheek a consoling pat. “It’s okay. Sometimes submissives forget how into a scene they get.” He takes Gabriel’s jaw between his fingers and turns his head back toward the holo-screen with a murmur of, “But watch this part. See how much you like it.”

Gabriel stares at the screen like he’s in a trance, feeling numb as he watches--watches his body be rolled over again, watches two new hands spread the globes of his ass and bare the soft, slick-shiny gape of his hole. He can hear his own voice--hoarse and muffled by cock--moaning as fingers from each hand press into him and pull his hole wide, hold it there as a fake cock as big around as his wrist is pressed up against it. 

_“Shh--you can do it, Gabi,”_ the man recording says, his voice entirely foreign; the shot changes to screen-Gabriel’s face and the thick cock pumping deep into his mouth, and Gabriel touches his throat in understanding of the ache that still lingers there. _“You want to be a good boy, don’t you? Good boys take the toys that their Master gives them, and are thankful for it. Relax, pretty slut.”_

Screen-Gabriel’s face rifles through a mix of emotions, despair changing to urgency then to eagerness; tears brim his eyes, and as they spill over he cries out around the cock pummeling his face, the noise high-pitched and weak.

The shot changes again, to his ass stretched obscenely wide around the toy that spears him; Gabriel catches sight of blood-red on the pastel blue silicone and jerks his gaze away, biting his lip. Screen-Gabriel lets out a shrill, trilling moan, and he feels sick.

“What’s wrong?” Julian briefly rubs the other, newly-freed wrist, head tilted in concern as he reaches down to card his fingers through Gabriel’s short-cropped curls. “You liked it, Gabriel...didn’t you see how hard your dick was? I only put the ring on you after you’d cum twice.”

Gabriel feels like he should talk--should argue--but he has no idea what to say. He’d seen the footage, and it had been clear; no one had held him down or forced him. He’d moaned in pleasure and whined for more. He’d been hard, ready to cum; entirely willing to do whatever the men around him wanted him to.

The thought does nothing to abate the sour taste in the back of his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

When Gabriel leaves later that day, it’s to seven missed calls on his phone and a novella of text messages--asking him why he’s not at work, why he won’t answer his phone, where he’s at.

It’s only then that he figures out he’s been at Julian’s house for three straight days.

He doesn’t remember giving Julian his number, but the next night he gets a call; and something about the plea in Julian’s voice, when he says _“I miss you, Gabriel, my little angel”_ , has Gabriel a flushing, hot mess. He thinks back to how he’d looked on the recording--remembers seeing himself so blissed out and moaning, taking everything Julian gave him and begging for more, completely happy in a depth of submission he’d never had before.

He tries not to sound too eager as he agrees to come over for another night.

__

“There you go...just like that, Gabriel. My good little angel…”

Julian’s voice is soft overhead, and Gabriel hums happily around the man’s cock, shifting his knees wider to take in another inch of his shaft; he rolls his shoulders against the warm soreness building in them, his wrists flexing where they’re tied behind his back with soft rope. He feels content like this, with Julian’s dick heavy in his mouth and Julian’s hand petting through his hair, Julian’s scent all around and Julian’s pleasure tangible, in the firmness against Gabriel’s lips and the salty flavor across his tongue. The heady feeling in his chest--something solid and warm under his heart that he’s come to associate with submission, with pleasing his Dominant--is addicting; it muddles everything, makes his thoughts fuzzy and his body slow, and he’s absurdly grateful that Julian is a kind enough Dom to put up with him through it, guide him through the haze.

Abruptly, he’s jerked out of the doze as he hears the bedroom door open, hears voices buzzing distantly; he tries to turn his head, and Julian’s grip in his hair goes vicelike, as unyielding as his voice as he murmurs, “No, pet. Focus on me, not them. You know the rules.”

Gabriel hesitates before he nods, dumbly, eyes rolling up to fix on Julian’s face again. He has half a mind to apologize for his bad behaviour--but before he can even move his jaw to get the words out, Julian is moving for him, standing up off the bed and keeping his hand in Gabriel’s short curls to pull him up, too. Gabriel gags at the movement, scrambling to keep Julian’s cock between his lips, mindful of his teeth. 

“Do you have the gear?” Julian’s eyes aren’t on Gabriel, but past him, and Gabriel whines softly at it; he hates being ignored, and is sure Julian knows it by now. The grip in his hair loosens slightly, fingers scratching over his scalp in a placating way, and he falls quiet again. 

There’s more noise behind him--shuffling, metallic clinks. Someone asks, “Rubber or metal?”

Julian’s eyes do find Gabriel’s face then, his gaze settling over his sub’s blown pupils and the intensity of his stare; he can see the tense muscles twitch in Gabriel’s neck, how hard it is for him to stay still and obedient. He smiles and brings his free hand up, pops his thumb in Gabriel’s mouth alongside his cock and tugs at Gabriel’s lips, testing the give of his skin; Gabriel whines again at the stretch of it, closing his eyes and trying to nestle himself closer to Julian, toward the reassuring safety of his Dom. 

Julian’s thumb pulls free with a wet _pop_. “....metal. He can take it.”

And it’s like a cue--because then there are hands on him, everywhere, grabbing his shoulders and roaming through his hair, pulling him backward. Julian steps away and Gabriel tries to follow, fighting against the hands that hold him; panic bubbles just below his skin, his mind racing through a thousand and one different scenarios that all end with Julian being disappointed in him and giving him away. He tries to cry out, and all that leaves him is a choked-sounding noise from deep in his chest.

Julian ignores it, settling himself on the bed again.

“Master--!” The word is desperate and lost as fingers rush into his mouth, pulling his jaws open wide; Gabriel can taste metal against his tongue as the cold bit is shoved between his teeth, and when the fingers retreat he bites down on instinct, keening at the way the motion makes pain rattle up into his skull through the roots of his teeth. He’s blinking back tears as a new man--someone Gabriel’s never even seen before, why is he even _here_ \--crouches in front of him and reaches out, patting over Gabriel’s head like he would a startled animal.

“Shh, pet.” His voice is low and rumbling and Gabriel tries to hang onto it, tries to focus on it as more cool, stiff leather is strapped around his face--over his forehead, along the back of his skull, under his throat. His eyes dart over to Julian searchingly, and he finds another, slimmer body in his Dom’s lap, arms linked loosely around Julian’s neck and face happily nuzzling against his shoulder. 

The warmth Gabriel had felt earlier fizzles to cold dread in his gut. He hiccups behind the bit, and wonders what he did wrong.

The man who had been petting him earlier moves--he leaves Gabriel’s sight to walk behind him, and just as Gabriel is drawing a shuddering breath the straps around his head pull tight, choking. He struggles anew, frightened all over again, and feels the hand on his head return, petting over the curls that aren’t pinched up in leather straps. 

“Easy, pet,” the man murmurs, voice hot and right against Gabriel’s ear; the hand petting him moves, stroking down Gabriel’s head and neck like a mane, and Gabriel’s shoulders hitch. “There you go...good pony. What a pretty boy. Stay still, now.”

Gabriel quivers at the command, working his mouth around the bit restlessly as he’s geared up--with cool straps buckled over his neck and chest, stiff leather rubbing harshly against his pierced nipples, making him whine. Another band of leather fastens snug around his waist, and from it dangles a thinner strap, fitted with a ring; it dangles against Gabriel’s inner thigh as he’s jostled around, the metal cold enough to bite and promising. 

Gabriel is pulled up by his hair, and unsteadily wobbles as another man runs the free-hanging strap between his legs; it settles on his balls and forces them up snug against his body, chafes at the delicate skin there as the man feeds Gabriel’s cock through the ring and pulls everything tight. All Gabriel can do is draw in ugly, gasping breaths through his nose as he tries to breathe through the fright and the pain, his eyes wide and wet as he staggers, caught up in the rush of too much too fast. 

He turns his head to look around, his peripheral vision completely taken away by the blinders on either side of his face--and when he looks forward again Julian stands there, a small grin on his face, his arms crossed.

“Don’t you look pretty,” Julian murmurs, reaching out to set a hand lightly on Gabriel’s scarred cheek; he flinches at the touch, feels more tears race down his cheeks. “All tacked up and ready to work for me….exactly where you belong.”

Gabriel hiccups again, shaking his head--the weight of the leather is nigh-crushing, the coolness of it overwhelming and prickly-painful along his flushed skin, too tight and pinching where it buckles. He wants nothing more than to get out of all this ridiculous garb and fall into Julian’s lap, have Julian wipe away his tears and hold him until he stops shaking, take him somewhere private where Gabriel can recover alone. 

But Gabriel thinks back to the videos he watched, of seeing himself lost amid so much pleasure at Julian’s hand, made mindless and light with it; he swallows down his fear as Julian pulls his hand away, and swears to himself that, if nothing else, he’s got to at least try.

“...first one up,” Julian is saying, when Gabriel comes back to himself enough to listen; he can hear more motion behind him, and as unsettling as it is he tries not to focus on it, tries to focus instead on the clip of leash-like reins by his bit and how that, at least, is familiar. 

There’s a tug at his bridle, and Gabriel blinks as the same man from earlier steps into his line of sight, reins in hand; the man’s hand comes to rest heavy on Gabriel’s head, pats at him a few times, before he clicks his tongue and starts to walk, tugging the reins with him to get Gabriel to move.

The first step feels awkward, bound and dressed up as he is--but with his second step Gabriel can feel weight behind him, pulling at his chest, and he halts abruptly, feeling himself come close to panicking again. He can’t see what’s behind him, if there’s resistance why is he being coaxed to move, _where is Julian_ \--

“Shh, pony.” The man’s hand comes to rest on Gabriel’s head again, just patting as he gives the reins a sharp tug. “Do your job. Pull, like your Master wants you to.”

Gabriel blinks at him, confused; but he follows the tug of the reins like he’s been conditioned to do, and with a visible flex of his thighs he manages to get whatever is behind him moving along with him. As he drags the object around, he feels a new flush of shame, washing hot from his head down to his feet--this is a new kind of humiliation. It’s potent and strange, but there all the same, in the way he’s reduced to an animal and reduced to the task set before him, exerting himself for no purpose other than the amusement of those watching.

His cock--he’d thought it long disinterested by now--gives a hopeful twitch at the realization.

Gabriel moans behind the bit, closing his eyes and compartmentalizing; he’ll deal with this new-found piece of himself later, when he’s not surrounded by strangers and still uncertain. For now, it’s easier to just let himself fall into the monotony of it--the weight behind him and the burn of his legs as he continues to pull, the tug of the reins at his mouth--and by the time he’s made a lap around the room, he’s panting softly with effort but quieter, eyes glazed and more or less settled back into a subspace deep enough to keep him away from his anxiety about the situation.

Gabriel stands quietly as he’s pulled to a halt, and hears more crates being loaded behind him; the same man pets over his head with a broad hand, murmuring into his ear with his low voice.

“Such a good pony for your Master...showing everyone how good you can be. Such a strong workhorse…”

He clicks his tongue again and Gabriel doesn’t hesitate before throwing himself against the weight, the straps across his chest digging into his skin and the muscles of his thighs quivering with the effort it takes to move the load. The man continues to rumble encouragement into his ear, telling him how good he’s being, how strong and obedient; Gabriel’s absurdly thankful for the blinders as he feels his cock respond to the praise, filling to half-mast and swinging obscenely between his legs as he walks. 

Gabriel manages another two laps before the weight really gets to him. His steps get slower and the tugs at his reins more insistent, having to work harder to coax him to move; but after another circuit around the room he has to stop, too exhausted to keep moving.

The man murmurs to him and Gabriel tries to listen, but it’s hard to hear anything over the roaring of his blood in his ears and his panting against the drool-soaked bit. The man’s hand comes to rest on Gabriel’s head again, and he flinches, the muscles of his thighs quivering under sweat-slick skin as they struggle to keep him upright. He aches, and feels lightheaded, and blearily lifts his head to look for Julian, hoping for some kind of recognition of his efforts--

And Julian sits on the bed still, his shirt rucked up and thighs spread for the slim body between them, slacks gathered around his calves. He lifts his gaze to meet Gabriel’s, taking in his sub’s shivering body and the sweat that makes his dark skin shine, and curls his lip in a leer. 

“Take the animal to be washed. I have no further use of him.”

Gabriel chokes on his breath--what did he do _wrong_? He stands stock-still as he feels the weights being unclipped from his back, his eyes searching Julian’s almost desperately for some kind of approval; but Julian drops his gaze again to the pretty little thing bobbing between his legs, unconcerned and disinterested with his shaky, sweaty submissive, and Gabriel bites down on the bit hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He’s led to the bathroom by the same man who’s been handling him all night. Still fully tacked up and quivering, he nearly overcompensates and falls without the weights dragging behind him; but the man is quick to catch him by his harness, and manhandles him into standing straight again, like Gabriel and his muscle is nothing.

Gabriel feels like he is.

He stands in front of the sink and tries not to catch his reflection in the mirror--knowing it will be ridiculous black leather and puffy red eyes, scars standing out against his humiliated flush, all ugly and undesirable--and stays still as the man works to carefully untack him, working from the bottom up. His half-hard cock is fed back out through the ring holding it, the tight strap loosened and pulled away from his balls; Gabriel whimpers at the feeling of it all, the chill raising goosebumps along his newly-bared flesh and making his strained muscles feel even more unsteady. He flinches under the hand that comes to pat kindly at his shaking thigh. 

“Shh, little pony,” the man murmurs, carefully unbuckling the harness around Gabriel’s chest and pulling it free, peeling the sweat-soaked leather from his dark skin. He leaves the bridle in place for now, and loops the reins over the faucet while he grabs one of the handtowels nearby, wetting it in the sink.

The first touch of the cold cloth to Gabriel’s skin makes him yelp. But he tries to stand still and let himself be washed off, closing his eyes as the cloth runs down his flexing abdomen and over the quivering muscles of his thighs, then between them, cleaning the sweat off his balls. He nearly buckles at the feeling of the man’s hand rolling his sack in the cloth, and bites down on his bit again, trying to stop the whimper that spills from his throat.

The man looks up at Gabriel’s face, one brow raised, and gently repeats the motion; Gabriel chokes on his breath and drops his head down to his chest, shoulders hitching. He doesn’t know if he wants it to feel good or not--if he wants to even bother with trying to get off, or if he just wants out of this stupid garb and out of this house--but the man doesn’t ask him, just keeps the cool cloth pressed between Gabriel’s legs and cradled around his balls.

“...you were a good pony for your Master,” he murmurs, shifting his grip slightly; Gabriel’s teeth grind on the bit as the cloth wraps cool and wet around his flushed cock instead, gripping it loosely. The texture of it is coarse, and almost hurts as the man starts to slowly jerk him off, working over his dick in smooth, unhurried strokes. 

“I know you just want to be good.” He shifts his position, standing behind Gabriel and grabbing the bridle in his free hand, jerking his head up; Gabriel’s forced to meet his own gaze in the mirror, stare at himself with a bit between his teeth and a stranger’s hand around his cock, and his shoulders hitch as he feels his stomach tighten, arousal spiking at his own humiliation.

“There you go...don’t fight it,” the man coaxes, dropping the cloth to the floor to take Gabriel in hand, test the weight of his hard cock and give it a squeeze that has Gabriel rolling up onto his toes. “You were a good boy.”

His hand moves faster along Gabriel’s cock, thumb toying gently with his piercings when he makes himself pause, delighting in the sharp gasps each flick of metal earns.

“You deserve a reward.”

Gabriel closes his eyes and nods, frantically, rolling his hips up in greedy little bucks and chasing the release that he’s been teased with all evening. His breath comes faster, wet pulls of air around the drool-covered bit, chest heaving; he can feel tears pricking at his eyes again, threatening to spill over. But this stranger’s hand, his soft grip and gentle strokes, make Gabriel’s nerves light up in a way he’s craved for so long.

“So let me give it to you. You’re a good boy.”

The man’s hand twists and squeezes just right, fingers tugging slightly at a piercing, and it’s all Gabriel needs to finally come undone. Orgasm tears through him as something shooting and painful, wrenched from the very depths of his being; and Gabriel wails with it, teeth gnashing helplessly against the bit strapped between them, drool dripping down his chin.

When the crest of it passes, Gabriel sags backward bonelessly, head tipping forward onto his chest. The man behind him shifts to effortlessly hold his weight, and pets over Gabriel’s fluttering stomach with a soft hand, voice soft in his ear as Gabriel starts to quietly weep.

“Good boy. I've got you. Good boy…”


End file.
